


Duty calls.

by Haewkes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Hawke in Dragon Age: Inquisition, M/M, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haewkes/pseuds/Haewkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's four years after the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall.<br/>Hawke and Fenris have been spending their years travelling along the Free marches alongside the Grey warden Stroud, destroying and researching multiple red lyrium deposits along their way. Almost a year after Stroud left the pair, in fear of getting corrupted by the mineral,  Hawke recieves a letter from the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One more tomorrow

One more tomorrow  
To hold you in my embrace  
And thrill with rapture  
Each time I look at your face  
  
One more tomorrow  
To see heaven in your eyes  
To have your hand cling to mine  
And wander through paradise

 - Frankie Carle - One More Tomorrow (1946)

 

* * *

 

It started out with a letter, which almost felt like the old times again. He was happy to see his best friend's handwriting at first, the quick, yet elegant scrabble of the writer almost being of comfort these days.

Varric wrote him nearly every week now, his adventures with the inquisition making his tales more colourful than ever. He missed the blighted dwarf to pieces, their ridiculous banter over stale ale, their nights of wicked grace in the hanged man... Even their everlasting competition of victories. Hawke swears he can hear the 'Headshot! How many 've you got, Hawke? '-'s every time he stuffs a thug's mouth full with a fireball.

Hawke thanked the messenger, a young man in the colours of the inquisition. Which was admittedly a little strange; Varric always has the tendency to send his own men. He settled back by the campfire, tugging his dagger out of his belt to cut the seal of the envelope open.

There was a map on the backside, and Hawke recognized the south of Thedas, a small red cross in the middle of where the Frostback mountains were supposed to be. _Treasure hunting?_

He was already grinning as he folded the paper open, expecting to have a fond laugh and a good tale to think over after he switched watch with Fenris later that night. He never gets to tell the story secondhand. The elf sucks up every bit of literature they could get their hands on. Varric's stories are definitely no exception.  

But when he looked over the letter, his happy assumptions seem to be very wrong. His name on the top is obviously Varric's handwriting, but he swears that either the dwarf has written this letter on the back of a bronto, or he was very nervous.

There was no retort on him asking for a lock of chest hair in his last letter, which was equally a disappointment and a relief. But there was not even a bit of a joke in the first line, if it was, Hawke didn’t appreciate the wrenching feeling in his gut.

_Hawke,_

_I'm sorry._  
_The maker knows you've been dragged through enough blighted shit to last a man six lifetimes. But we need your help._  
_Turns out that it's not just the sky ripping itself a few new ones for the herald to close. The Inquisition has moved headquarters, a fortress in the Frostbacks called Skyhold.  
(The map on the back here points this out.)_

 _Haven is no more, there has been a march on the village a few days ago. No, not an exalted march, don't worry it's not quite that lovely a story. We dealt with an army of infected templars. And with infected I mean red lyrium._  
_Templars switch it up with their usual dose, inject it right into their veins. What it causes is extra strength in the short term. But in the long term… it gives them full out, red shards sticking out of their bodies, morphing them into abominations.These people are broken, Hawke. Worse than Bartrand, worse than the knight commander._  
Empty shells of beings. War machines. Darkspawn level enemies, but stronger. I imagine you've seen plenty of that already, especially if you're looking for it. But I dwell.

 _I need you to remember something.  Do you recall the whole ordeal with the Carta looking for Hawke blood, the thing with the talking darkspawn, Corypheus?_  
_Well, shit._ _He came back to life, apparently._  
 _I don't know the details of it, and he looked pretty fucking dead to me when we killed him. But he's back. There's lyrium growing all over and out of his body and he's basically invincible. He's their leader. He controls the minds of the red templars or something, the inquisition is trying to figure out how but there isn't much-_

 

"Hawke?"

The champion looked up to see Fenris stand over him with worried eyes.  
"Oh, you're awake." Hawke managed, throwing up the weakest of smiles as he pet the ground next to him. The elf took place, brows raised.

"Having someone whisper 'Maker's Balls' like a mantra for two minutes straight does tend to wake a person, yes."

Hawke smiled sheepishly and dropped his gaze to the fire.

"What is this?" Fenris asked, reaching for the paper in his hand, "Varric's?"

Hawke nodded solemnly "Not his best work."

 

"Bad news I take it?" He murmured, his brows furrowing as his eyes scan over the paper.

It took him a while, but Hawke still took pleasure in watching his lips form the words he reads.

He'd become a lot better over the years.

 

He saw the calmness flow away to make place for fire in his eyes, the lyrium lines on his body flaring up ever so slightly.

Hawke knew touching him was the last thing that would calm him down, but he still did it instinctively.

   
Fenris kept glowering at the paper. Then prompted to stand up and made a ball out of it, ready to throw it into the fire, but Hawke catched his arm in time.

"I would like to finish that." He said, peeling Fenris' fingers off the paper.

  
"Trust me, you do not." Fenris said, and cursedin Tevene. Or at least, Hawke thought it was Tevene, the elf's vocabulary seemed to have grown increasingly more colourful over the years.  
Fenris does seem to have a thing for languages and their traveling had only add to it.

   
They shared their gazes for a lingering moment. Hawke gave him an unimpressed but curious look, but Fenris looked back at him with an almost frightened shimmer in his eyes.

   
"Fenris-"

"The dwarf can stick it up his… -inquisition. I am not letting you throw yourself into this, Hawke!"

"This is not Varric's call."

"Neither is it yours!"

His large eyes fired up with anger again. Hawke loves how expressive they make him be, but not this time.  
The anger flickered back and forward to pain and betrayal. He had hoped, thought, this look on his face had died with Varania all those years ago.  

The silence made the crackling sound of the fire more apparent, and Fenris pulled his arm away from Hawke, throwing the paper ball into the fire.

Hawke sighed and pulled a face.

"You know, if this was an actual way to resolve conflicts, I'd-"

   
"I know this doesn't resolve conflicts." Fenris snapped.  
He stalked over to the fire and dropped down in front of it, pulling his knees up. He looked ten years younger.

Hawke watched the fire, saw the paper shrinking from a dark brown to black before it crumbled apart. He tried not to feel sorry for himself but it felt like a perfect representation of the past few years.

"At least take me with you."  
Fenris' voice was small, almost like he already knew that Hawke could not give him that.

Hawke slowly walked closer to him,  
"You're safer staying out of that mess"  
He winced slightly as he hears Fenris snorted incredulously.  
He knew how dumb and hypocrite it sounded after all they had been through together. After all Fenris went through himself. But the idea of red lyrium templars made him feel cold.  
He thought of the research Varric and he had done.

‘Red lyrium grows everywhere, corrupts raw blue lyrium with but a single touch.  
If all that it takes is one touch, one templar. The effect is irreversible.’

He thinks back, two months ago, when everything didn’t seem so impossible.  
Just a hole in the sky, it was fixable.  
Fenris was smart enough not to touch the red mineral. So it didn’t bother them much. They had even joked about it.  
_“I thought you liked red.”_ Fenris had said when Hawke told him not to swap for the new fashion.  
Stroud had left them because he grew afraid it would affect him as a warden.  
They had _laughed_.

But now.

One touch.  
They had seen what it was like.

"I'm serious, it's just hordes and hordes of red lyrium infected beings. If by any chance something happens and the lyrium in your skin  gets corrupted- It would kill me to see you go like Bartrand or Meredith."

He placed his hand on his shoulder, but Fenris doesn't react.  
He read the letter, Fenris knew what the stuff does. He could see his mind working the thought.

“So you’d prefer to throw yourself in front of them and die by yourself before that happens?”  
“No but-”  
“Hawke.”  
“No, Fenris, listen. Corypheus is my responsibility.”

“He’s really not!”

Hawke repressed a sigh as he sunk down next to him by the fire.  
“Varric’s counting on me, Fen. The entire Inquisition- Scratch that, the entire world of Thedas is counting on me.”

 Fenris opened his mouth, furrowed his brows and closed his mouth again. Hawke wondered what he was about to say.  
  


"You’re going to get yourself killed.” Fenris repeated incredulously.  
“It’s what I do.”  
Fenris hummed lowly and bowed his head. His fringe fell in front of his eyes.

_His hair is getting so long…_

“You become better at it every day.”  

Hawke scooted closer and wraps an arm around his shoulders, and counted it as a victory as Fenris leaned back against him.  
“I could join the Inquisition.” He mumbled. Hawke could tell his mind was racing and grabbing on to every possible solution to stay together and it made his heart bleed.  
“You’re not a soldier, your way of fighting is so vastly different, learning to fit in would take years and it won’t make you better.”

Fenris looked up at him, half offended but also slightly amused.

“So you’re any better in that aspect, how?”  
“I’m a mage.”  
“You’re a bother is what you are.”

Hawke blew an offended raspberry, and Fenris barked half a laugh at him. But Fenris didn’t forget himself for long.

“You’re still not going.”  
“Fenris-”  
“I’m serious, Hawke. Where do I stay if not with you?”   

The sincere face that came with that question gave Hawke pause.  
He looked at the fire, thought of years back in a Hightown mansion, Fenris sitting back to his chair and looking at him with hopeful eyes.

_What do you do when you stop running?_

“When all of this is over,” Hawke started, noticing the split moment Fenris held his breath as he said the words. “We could go back south. The blight is over, people are rebuilding. We could retire there. Build a house, get a dog. Or a pet dragon. We could name her Wicked Grace so when Varric comes around and asks; ‘Hey wanna play wicked grace?’ The dragon bursts in and-”

“Hawke please.”

They were both grinning as Hawke looked down at him, but Fenris shook his head slightly.  
“Whenever you say ‘When this is over’ I know it will never happen. Because when this finally is over, there’s yet another game for us to play in.”

“This time it will happen.” Hawke swore to him, looking up at the stars in the sky as he said so.  
The longer Fenris waited to react to that, the more it started to feel like a lie.

“Make sure it will, by not going.” Fenris finally suggested.  
“Make sure it will, by going to Ferelden. I’ll follow you right after.” Hawke retorted.  
“To Ferelden. By myself.” Fenris raised a brow.

“Why yes, sometimes an unbiased tour is better.” Hawke smirked.  
“I’m sure there’s no bias possible in a country struck by the blight.” Fenris shaked his head determinedly. “I’d rather just stay together.”

He buried his face into Hawke’s shoulder and they both sighed simultaneously.  
Hawke didn’t  know what to say to that. Of course he’d rather stay together as well, undoubtedly.

“Why do you always have to play the hero?” Fenris mumbled.  
“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here with me right now.”

Hawke could feel Fenris’ smile into his shoulder.  
“You should try stepping down instead of up, Champion.”

“It’s just one last time. Plenty of time to become boring old men.”  
Fenris looked up at him and places a hand on his cheek. It felt almost strange without him wearing his gauntlets.

“I don’t think you'll ever have to worry about becoming boring, Hawke.” He said.  
It made Hawke chuckle, and Fenris eyes crinkled with a smile. They both leaned in, meeting half way for a kiss.

Hawke’s hand buried itself into Fenris’ growing locks.

The kiss was slow and felt of a promise, felt like an illusion. Hawke was aware that Fenris knew he would leave tonight.  
He already knew Fenris would be angry with him for it later. But for now, it seemed like they were ignoring it.  
He was sure Fenris knew not even he could stop him, but he realised, as Fenris sighed into the kiss and tugged him closer, that that fact didn’t sit well with him at all.

Hawke broke away and rested his forehead against Fenris’  
“I love you, Fen.” He said, and nothing was more true in that moment.

Fenris’ expression turned wistful. “That's why you're leaving me.” He said.  
“Yes.”

Fenris closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “Please don't go where I can't follow.”  
“You've said that once before.” Hawke remarked. “After we fought Meredith.”  
“It still applies.” Fenris sighed.  
"So does my answer”  
Fenris raised his brows. “You never answered.”

A silence.

_Because I can't. I can't promise you. I can not say yes and do it anyway._

“You-” Fenris snapped his mouth shut.

They were silent again then, Hawke could feel the words settle in.  
Fenris understood him, he always did. Even if the thought scared him, even if he didn't agree in the slightest.

He understood, but he wasn't happy with him, so much was obvious.  
But Hawke felt  guilty enough, and Fenris knew that. And with that, the conversation was over.

“I'll stay on watch tonight.”  
Fenris shook his head and pulled himself away from Hawke, dusting his leathers as he stood up, he reached a hand out for him.

“Don’t. Stay with me tonight.”

Hawke took his hand, how could he not.

 

* * *

 

 

Fenris woke by the sound of rummaging.  
It was before dawn, he realised Hawke must be trying to sneak out. Alas, Hawke is undoubtedly the least stealthy person Fenris has ever met.  
He lied still, tried to keep his breathing even. Wondered if Hawke would even notice if he didn't.

He had time to be mad later, it was not the way he wanted to part.  
There was no reason to fight, this wasn’t even Hawke’s fault. It was his decision, though, and Hawke was great at making bad decisions.  
The one thing Fenris wondered most was if what they had last night was enough of a goodbye, or if he would regret not saying something now later.

He should not be awake.

He heared footsteps approaching, sensed Hawke crouching beside him. He leaned in and brushed a kiss against his temple.

“Maker, watch over him.” Fenris heard him whisper.  
_Sentimental fool._  
Fenris felt like crying. Felt like throwing his arms around him in a hug.  
It would be a Hawke-ish thing to do.  
He didn’t do it.

Hawke lingered, but not for long. As soon as he heared the flaps of their tent being lifted, Fenris felt a sense of panic, and shot up from his bedroll.

“Hawke!”  He called.

The campfire had burned down, Hawke stood by his mount. The cracks of dawn gave his black hair a faint shine.  
He turned around, surprised.

“Fenris? I thought I had been-”  
_Quiet? You?_ Fenris snorted.

Hawke looked like a child caught with his hand in a jar of sweets. He ran his hand through his hair almost nervously, and held the reigns of the horse tightly in his other hand.  
Fenris held on to the rough fabric of the tent, and made up his mind.  

“I'm going north.”

“North? Tevinter?” Hawke looked even more surprised now, his brows raised almost comically.  “Why?”  
  
Fenris took a deep breath, let his arms fall along his body and raised his head.  
“Because we're going to need a little more than one free elf to build back Lothering into a town.”

A wide smile crossed Hawke’s face, and he dropped the reins, stalking over to Fenris to sweep him up into a bearhug. Fenris let it happen.  
It was a Hawke-ish thing to do. He looked up at him as Hawke set him down again.

“Write to me.” Hawke said, bowing down to peck him on the lips.  
Fenris nodded, and let him go reluctantly. Hawke mounted his horse and waved cheerfully.  
He wondered if he let him down too easy.

The sun came up right behind him, lighting up his tall frame.  
The mare startled from the jewel on Hawkes staff, whinnied and pranced, resulting Hawke to wobble on his saddle.  
He managed to compose himself.

Fenris reevaluated his previous thought.

“Try to stay in one piece.” He said, shaking his head with a long suffering sigh.  
“That I can do.” Hawke lowered his gaze, giving Fenris a look.  

“I'll come back soon. Be safe.”

Safe is not for us.  Fenris thought, but he nodded, feeling his throat close up.  
He watched Hawke ride away to the sunrise.  
Dread piled up in his stomach. But if he was really honest, also just the smallest bit of hope.

And that was usually enough with Hawke.

 

* * *

A new fic for a (not so) new fandom!  
Hoped you enjoyed it and thanks for the read!

 


	2. One day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When someone is in your constant presence for years on a row,  
> it's a bit of a blow to be all on your own all of a sudden.

_One day baby, we'll be old_  
_Oh baby, we'll be old_  
_And think of all the stories_  
_That we could have told_  
  
_No more tears, my heart is dry_  
_I don't laugh and I don't cry_  
_I don't think about you all the time_  
_But when I do - I wonder why_

_One day - Asaf Avidan (2012)_

* * *

 

 

Hawke assumed it would be difficult to find the Inquisition's new headquarters with only the limited instructions Varric provided him, which were also, very ideally, burned away in a campfire in the Free Marches.

It wasn't.

He arrived in the harbour city of Cumberland, one vague description from him about a fortress in the Frostback mountains had many boatsmen going;  
_"Ooh, you mean Skyhold? You want to visit the Herald? You and me both Serah. But do you have the coin?"_

Not wanting to stand out, Hawke booked himself a place aboard _'The Ungraceful Imp'_ , a ship with mercenaries from the West of the Marches.  
To Hawke's disappointment, none of them knew how to play Wicked Grace.  
But they did know Diamondback.

Hawke lost five sovereigns, and already missed Fenris.

"Listen," Hawke said to Every, the winner of his previous game, who was now eying his maille tunic hungrily.  
"I don't know about you, but I've got people to impress back at Skyhold. I can't do that in the nude. Not in the way I'd prefer, at least."  
The tall man in front of him laughed and stopped hustling the cards.  
"Someone to impress, huh?"  
"People."  
Hawke corrected him quickly, not liking the gleaming look on Every's face.  
He wondered how much he had to drink.

"You got it in for the Inquisitor? You like knife ears?"  
Hawke didn't know the Inquisitor, but he knew how to put one and one together, and he also knew an arsehole if he heard one.  
He wasn't the only one.

"Hey, shut your fuckhole, man." A red haired city elf turned around with a scowl, cheeks flushed from the Dwarven ale in his hand.  
"You better change that attitude before I knife yours in your sleep."

Every snorted and turned to Hawke, the elf kept watching them with narrowed eyes.  
"Typical, skinny fuck's just here to drink and look for a fight." He grumbled, and held up the bottle of ale for Hawke. The Elf's face got even redder with anger.

Hawke calmly let him pour his drink, took a gulp and stood up. Now he was standing upright, he started to wonder how drunk he was himself.  
"Listen pissbucket. I absolutely love jokes, but you're taking the piss with my husband and some of my dearest friends right here. So you better watch your fucking tone."

He didn't know why he did it, or maybe he did, because suddenly;   
_He could see Orana's sad eyes as she carried her basket of groceries into Hightown, having thrown slurs her way with every brave step she took._  
Merrill's defiant blush as someone spoke about the Dalish as if they were savages.  
_Tallis' sad grin and her 'At least with the Qun we're equal.'_  
Fenris' subconscious cringe every time anyone called him a 'little something'

Hawke threw his drink into Every's face.  
The red haired elf started hooting. "I'll buy you that drink! Maker bless you, man!" People were laughing, calling for a fight, or murmured amused and approvingly.  
This man didn't seem to be very favoured. _Good._

He heard Every say something about 'Blighted Fereldans," and "fucking rabbits and dogs both." Hawke figured it was probably better he hadn’t heard him properly.

Suddenly the red haired elf was right in front of him, sticking out his hand.  
“You’re a good fucker.” He slurred, “I like you.”

Hawke raised his brows and chuckled, shaking his offered hand.  
“Ain Tabris. That drink’s still on by the way. If you want.”

Hawke nodded with a laugh, remembering his cover almost too late.  
“H-umm. Garrett Amell. Pleased to meet you in this fine establishment. Tabris, by the way? Like the Warden Commander?”

The elf whistled, “Someone knows his names. Just distant family, I’m afraid. There aren’t any uncommon elven last names.”  
He winked, the self depriving joke taking the heat off his offense to the other mercenary. Garrett grinned.

“I’m Fereldan. How could I forget my country’s hero!”

Ain’s nose wrinkled. “You’d be surprised, when it’s about an elf…”

They shared Ain’s enormous bottle of Dwarven ale together.  
Hawke was glad for his heavy weight. The past few years of travelling through inhabited places made alcohol scarce. The elf, however, seemed to have an incredible tolerance.  
“You look familiar.” Ain said after his second glass. “There’s something not quite right about you, but your face looks a lot like that one guy- Umm, an animal’s name. Bear? Maybe Bronto- Sparrow? No not quite. Eagle?”

“Hey elf fucker!”

Hawke and Ain both turned around, both as offended.  
It was all the warning Hawke got as he gained a face full of fist.  
“Maker’s balls!” Hawke drawled, grabbing at his seemingly broken nose.

_No magic, no magic._

“If you do it, do it right.” He told Every,  
grabbed him by his shoulders and headbutted him so hard his own ears rang.  
Every dropped down, and Hawke wobbled on his feet, trying to stay upright.

He grabbed at his nose again, trying to pull it back in place.

“You alright man? Here let me help.” Ain’s eyes were green, not unlike Fenris’.

_‘Try to stay in one piece.’ Step one. Failed._

“Yeah,” Hawke sniffled, squinting his eyes with a groan as the elf tugged roughly at his nose.  
This wasn’t a first time for the guy.  
Hawke wiped the blood away from his dripping nose.  
Ain’s eyes widened.

“Adraste’s gleaming tits. You’re Serah Hawke!”

Multiple men looked their way.

 _Step 2. Failed._ Hawke’s mind provided helpfully.

“Shush, it’s supposed to be a secret.” Hawke chuckled nervously, trying to make light of it.  
He ushered Ain back into his booth, but the young man looked at him as if he was his role model. _Please no._  
He tried to ignore the whispers of _‘Mage’, ‘Kirkwall’s chantry.’_ and _‘Champion._ ” and the large man with the Andrastian starburst on his chestplate, and kept smiling blissfully at Ain.  
He leaned forward towards the elf, pulling gold from his pocket.

“A sovereign for you if you create a distraction.”  
_Yes Hawke, because there’s plenty of coin to spend around, you absolute tool._

Ain didn’t even think about doubting, and swiftly swung himself up the table, grabbing the huge leftover bottle of Dwarven grog.

“Ten silvers say I can drink this entire thing at once!” He shouted.  
It was silent for a few moments, until another man shouted;  
“Fifteen if you drink a full one!”

Ain grinned wickedly, and gestured Hawke with his eyes to the door as he took the new bottle from a bulky Dwarf.

Hawke slipped into the lodging, hearing shouting and cheers from inside.  
He hoped the young man was going to make it ashore.

  
Hawke awoke as the ship arrived at the port.  
He got his staff and baggage from the storage room and left the ship without much further ado.  
Most of the mercenaries had rushed out of the ship as soon as it ported anyway. Including the elf and the elf-hater.

As Hawke walked towards the town, he recognised some of their faces crowding around the stables.  
But as soon as the horsemaster saw him, he dropped away from the man and gestured him to come forward and inside.  
Hawke nearly felt dirty by all the nasty looks thrown his way, but he supposed it was worth it.

“This is Auguste,” The man said, his accent flawlessly Orlesian. He pet the stallion’s manes.  
“Our champion horse, ser. None quicker.”

“Champion, huh.” Hawke snickered. “I bet Varric told you to tell me that.”

The horsemaster smiled, a bit cheeky. “Monsieur Tethras told me to give you the quickest we held, ser. I can give you no more.”

“You and me then, August.” Hawke said to the horse, clapping it’s back.  
“I had to sell my previous horse back in Cumberland. Had her for nearly five years. This will be a bit of a change.”

“He won’t be a problem, ser.”

Of course, with Hawke’s luck, Auguste was very set on being particularly problematic.  
Cinder, the gray mare Hawke had taken with him from Kirkwall, was not unlike the horses back in Ferelden Hawke had ridden as a young man.  
Quick and strong, sturdy and a bit rough. Perfect for the road.

Auguste was not unlike an Orlesian noble. Elegant, stubborn, temperamental and extremely proud.  
He hated Hawke’s staff, and he hated the baggage Hawke brought with him even more.  
But Hawke had to give it to the stallion, he was quick as the wind, and climbed mountains like a Fereldan mountaingoat.

The road gradually got colder, and Hawke had to stop more than once to put on more clothes or unice the horse’s feet.  
First his fur collar, then his warmer boots, and later, as he started to come across bears and wolves, most of his armour as well.

The closer he got to Skyhold, the more people he came across.  
There seemed to be a lot of traffic, mostly refugees on their way to the fortress.  
Children too, people with all their belongings on one cart, elderly. It reminded Hawke strongly of the blight.  
He shared food, tales and fire with them, but never his name.  
There were plenty of mages along them, but Hawke wasn’t planning on being either recognised, idolised, nor antagonised.

There were a few moments where he considered shaving his beard, which he hadn’t had since just after they had fled Kirkwall.  
But he remembered that, 1. Fenris would probably cry. And 2. He’d look way too much like Carver.

His image of the herald, which was now in synonym with the title ‘Inquisitor’ gradually changed the longer he spent with the refugees.  
Varric had, surprisingly, never let out much in his letters. The only thing he knew for sure was that the inquisitor was a man.  
Under the people he travelled with, it was widely presumed that he was an elf, so perhaps the mercenary aboard ‘the Ungraceful Imp’ hadn’t been talking out of his arse entirely.  
Somehow, the people had outrageous fantasies about the man, like him being two and a half meters long, or him having a radiant green glow emitting from his body.  
  
There didn’t seem to be a primary image.  
Hawke supposed he could learn a thing or two from this man, or at the very least, his ambassador.

After two days of travelling through the snowy mountains, the fortress came in sight.  
Hawke announced he would scout ahead of the group, bringing his horse galloping over the powdery snow.  
It didn’t take long before he found the path up to the drawing bridge, the magnificent fortress standing proudly reflected in the white snow.  
It was indescribably beautiful, and he had to push the immediate thought of having Fenris here to see this away.

Hawke dismounted his horse, slowly making his way to the port.  
His heart bumped tightly in his chest, and he felt Auguste pulling at the reins.

_No turning back now._

“You come here to help.” A light boyish voice said.

Hawke looked up, spotting the frame of a young man in the shadow of the port.  
Had he been here already?  
  
“I do.” Hawke said, stepping forward, holding the horse close to him.  
“I mean, I plan to.”

The boy stepped closer as well, his arms crossed. Yet, he looked excited.  
Hawke noticed he was wearing rags. And a ridiculous hat, but maybe that was just his style.

“You must be the bird Varric often speaks of.” Wide blue eyes laughed at him, and for some reason Hawke was reminded of Sandal.  
“I’m Hawke,” said Hawke, chuckling. “Who are you?”  
“My name is Cole.” The boy said, studying Hawke close.

Suddenly, his face fell, and he stepped back slightly.  
“You don’t want to be here.” said Cole.

For a moment Hawke wondered if it was a threat or a warning, but the boy honestly looked upset, so he supposed it was neither.

“If you wish him to be here to see all you see, why did you say no to him?”  
Hawke felt his heart skip a beat.  
“He wouldn’t be safe.” He breathed.

“Is he now? Are you?” Cole fussed, watching him owlishly.  
“I want to help you, but you’re making yourself sad.”

Hawke swallowed. _How in the Maker’s name-_

“That’s enough, kid. Don’t scare him off, or he’ll turn that champion horse of his right around.”  
One of the steel doors opened with the sound of struggling metal, indicating the lack of upkeep to the fortress.

“Varric.” Hawke close to sighed, a relieved smile covering his features instantly.  
His heart calmed at the mere sight of his dear friend. _Fucking Varric._

“Hawke, you big son of a nug, come here you.” Varric stalked over to him, and Hawke bent over to grab him in a tight onearmed hug.

“I’m both glad and sad to see you.” Varric admitted.  
“Hey, did you break your nose?”

 

* * *

 

It was almost twelve days traveling by foot.

Fenris really didn’t like horses much.  
Maybe that wasn’t right, he had nothing against the animals themselves.  
But their size, their behaviour, the way your intestines got stirred up in a rough gallop, it all made Fenris really uncomfortable.

Hawke had brought a mare from Kirkwall, mostly to pack along some of their belongings. It was also mostly Hawke who had ridden on her. Most of their travelling had been doable by foot, it was only twice that they mounted the horse together.  
Hawke had said he found it all very romantic. Fenris had felt like puking the entire time.

Hawke had left most of their equipment in the camp, but Fenris knew exactly what he needed to get north. His sword, his armour, coin, and a container for water.

He felt a little guilty for leaving behind all the expensive camping gear, but on the road, every single pound you carried counted for ten at the end of each day.

He and Hawke had both learned to navigate properly from the Warden Stroud.  
He supposed it would serve Hawke well, but the Imperial highway was hard to miss, as long as you walked up north.

It was strange, travelling alone again.  
Every now and then, he would drift off in thoughts, and his sword slapping his thighs would startle him so that he could feel his heart in his throat for the five minutes coming after.

It was almost shameful how much he was played into his partner.  
He was Hawke’s eyes, and Hawke was his. It had been so for years, even before they fled the city.

He had always been scared of this. To depend on allies in battle so much that it would obstruct his personal survival skills.  
Back in Kirkwall, he saw to it to keep his personal training up.  
Something a private mansion was perfect for, he supposed.  
Space, calmth, alone time. He didn’t think he would ever get so sick of it.

_It has been ten days._

For the second time that day, he wondered if Hawke had arrived at Skyhold yet.  
For the fourth time that day, he wondered if it’s appropriate to write already.

_Yes! I worry._

The first night at the Imperial highway, he found a travelling inn.  
Promising himself to cutpurse every single slaver from now on, he figured he could spare the coin.

He booked a room under the name Fenris Hawke.  
The words, even though they are so familiar, feel strange on his tongue.  
A last name is one of the many things Hawke has given his, but it might be one of his favourites. Saying it out loud felt like having him stand right behind him.

His bed that night was too large and too cold.  
Too silent without comments about cracking up the heat a notch, too empty without large limbs spread over him.

He stayed away from hospices after that.  
He favoured the campfire, the solid form of a tree he could lean his back against with his sword at his disposal. The red cloth from his gauntlet clenched tightly in his palm.

_‘Keep it, it works better than a wedding band for you!’_

_A jest. Not wanting anything in return but a kiss._  
_‘I don’t know what to give you back.’_  
_‘If I need something to remember you by, I’d only have to close my eyes.’_

Two more days north, to the Slavers road. That would keep his mind occupied.

He tied the red favour in his hair, keeping it out of his sight.  
Both the fabric and his hair, which only grew longer.

_Stop thinking of Hawke._

If only it helped.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plenty of inspiration to spare, so I pooped out chapter 2 pretty quick.  
> 


End file.
